Somewhere…in the dark, she forgot me not, her mouth, a bloom of venom and heat. Her thighs, the hush before the rot. I asked her once, between the sheets, if love could taste like depavity and sin. She laughed, her teeth like shattered glass, and pressed the knife beneath my chin.
Oh, how the shadows bent to kiss the bruises mapping out her spine. Each one a psalm, each gasp a prayer, her body, an unholy shrine. The bed became an altar then, her moans, the hymns I couldn’t name and when she bit down on my throat, I whispered, Darling, do it again.
Smells like steam and sweat somewhere.
My favorite imagery is the biting on the throat one. Sheesh! Do it again! “)
Thank you.